Impossible Dreams
by ChaosLightning13
Summary: Harry Potter is dead, and the Dark Lord rules supeme. Who will save them now?
1. Inside Azkaban

Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter (darn!). I got the inspiration for this story by reading another story (no duh. That's how we authors usually get our inspiration). Don't sue me. If you try, my cat will kill you. Okay, now for what I do own. Er. If I tell you, it'll spoil the story. Darn. Ooh, ooh, I know! I can say that I own Darcy. Yay, that won't spoil it.

Just so you don't yell at me, I'll tell you right out: I don't like to curse, in writing or in speech. But cursing is in character for some of the characters in this story, so I've used *'s to represent letters of curse words.

Lightning is back! Yay! Go read Kittycorn's stories. She's still posting The Chaos Tunnel for me. I'm still not happy with fanfiction.net. No, Lightning is not happy at all. Lightning can nurse a grudge for a long, long time. Hmm, maybe Lightning's unhappiness will help Lightning write this story….

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All hope was gone from the world. The Dark Lord, Heir of Slytherin, reigned supreme. He had even found another basilisk to replace the one killed by Harry Potter. Azkaban itself was his toy, where he imprisoned all those who opposed him, and the dementors guarded the prison once more. Not even Hogwarts was safe anymore, now that the Boy Who Lived was dead, killed by the Dark Lord.

            The Stormwinds, her fellow inmates, had mentioned a way to get from almost anywhere to almost anywhere else—the Chaos Tunnel, they called it. "Only two places we know of where it doesn't reach," they told her grimly. "The Chamber of Secrets—and Azkaban Prison."

            They had tried everything they could think of—picking the locks; changing to their Animagus forms to slip away, as Sirius Black had done; using their powers, so strong not even the dementors could drain them fully, to turn articles of clothing into Portkeys; performing the Patronus Charm (they could do it without their wands)—everything, but the Dark Lord had anticipated their every move. Nothing worked.

            As near as she could tell, she'd been in Azkaban for two years. Long enough, certainly, to forget everything except the worst moments of her life, which she relived over and over. There was the time when the man she loved was driven insane. That had been three years before her imprisonment, and he had not shown any signs of recovery until she was captured. After that, she did not know, but she expected that nothing had changed.

            There was another she loved, more than the first, but she believed him dead. He was not here with her in Azkaban, and he had been with her that night when she was taken prisoner. Sorrow filled her heart, as she relived the moment. Her love was going to get help, but only a few seconds after he left the door opened and the Dark Lord entered the house, wand raised. _"Avada Kedavra!"_ The green light blinded her, and she fell to her knees as the house collapsed around her. Two of her best friends died that night; she had seen the bodies with her own eyes. She had never seen her love's body, though, and she was tortured by not knowing whether he lived.

            She had to believe he was alive. Otherwise she had no reason to live. If he was dead, she would go insane. As it was, the only reason she managed to cling to sanity was her anger at the murder of her best friends. Not a happy thought at all, but it kept her sane, and she clung to it with all her being, as she clung to the hope that the man she loved was still alive. A hope that brought her no joy, for he had probably found another woman by now, and had no room left in his heart to love her.

            The worst was the pale-skinned, dark-haired, scrawny boy in the cell next to her. He had been imprisoned by the Ministry for betraying Harry Potter, and left there as a failure by the Dark Lord for getting himself caught. A Slytherin, he had somehow wormed his way into Harry's confidences during those last few years, then betrayed him to the Dark Lord after everyone thought they were safe. She could think about him quite clearly, for he, Donovan Black, was one of her worst memories.

            "NOOOOO! I DIDN'T DO IT! I SWEAR! GIVE ME F***ING VERITASERUM! PLEASE!" He writhed and moaned, begging for mercy. She almost felt sorry for him. No, he deserved no pity. She steeled her heart.

            Then came the day when a new prisoner arrived. She was dragged into Azkaban by the dementors, fighting tooth and nail the entire way.  She screamed for someone named Darcy, saying she loved him. After she was locked in her cell, she collapsed, sobbing, demanding to know how he could do this to her. The Dark Lord himself arrived shortly thereafter and put a silencing charm on her so she could not speak. He looked almost… regretful. But no, that was impossible; she was just imagining things.

            Donovan Black hurled curses at the Dark Lord, but the latter simply ignored him. Nothing, not even the dementors, seemed to affect the Dark Lord.

            One of the Stormwinds—she couldn't tell which one, as they all looked alike—tripped the Dark Lord with a well-placed curse. The Dark Lord turned, smiling so coldly he could have frozen a forest fire, and raised his wand. "_Crucio!_"

            Stormwind fell to the floor of his cell, gasping for breath. "Damn you!"

            Katrina Stormwind, distinguishable only because she was a girl, yelled, "Think of fairies and elves and Snape in a vulture hat, and everything will seem a lot better." It was a mark of how bad things were that that was the best she could do.

            With the dementors all around and the Dark Lord nearby, she could not even manage a weak smile at Stormwind's joke.

            "GIVE ME A F***ING TRIAL!" Donovan Black cried. He still had not realized that the government with had imprisoned him was no longer in power, and the new ruler had no mercy whatsoever.

            The next time the Dark Lord visited, perhaps a year later—she had lost track of exactly what day it was—he was followed by a sturdy toddler who surveyed the prisoners as coldly as did the Dark Lord himself.

            One day, a dementor came into her cell. That could only mean one thing. Sometimes a dementor grew hungry for a soul; then it would go into one of the cells and administer the Kiss.

            There was only one thing she could do. She fainted.

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Please review! Please! This is my first attempt at angst, and I really need some feedback. Next chapter coming as soon as I get some reviews.


	2. The Bittersweet Taste of Freedom

DISCLAIMER: Why don't I list what I do own? I own the plot. I own Deme (pronounced DEE-mee). I own a few more characters. If you recognize it, I don't own it. Except Darcy. You might think you recognize him but you probably don't.

Thank you everyone who reviewed! Yes, Sana-Kurata-3713, here's Chapter 2, and I've already written through about Chapter 9.

ElfIcarii, a Stormwind is a person. Stormwind is the last name of some of my characters. Kittycorn's url is: ?userid=396424.

And thank you Mandy for your review! Here's the second chapter, and I'll be typing the third as soon as someone reviews this one.

Okay, this chapter is just a bit dumb (it's the beginning of where my fic was getting too happy... so I revised it... but I didn't revise this chapter, so it's a happy chapter... sort of....)

If you can come up with a better name for the chapter, please tell me.

When she came to herself, she was surprised to find that she could still think. Shouldn't she feel different, now? Surely—but no, the dementor was still there, and no closer to her than before. "Ssorry," it hissed, to her great astonishment. "Not meanss to sscaress you."

            "Wha—why—how?" she asked incoherently. The dementors were still affecting her, this one all the more for its proximity, no matter its intentions.

            "Namess Deme," it introduced itself. She hadn't known that dementors had names. "Comess to getsss you out."

            "Why?" she demanded again, wondering how it was able to speak. It should not have surprised her—dementors had to be able to speak to communicate. Otherwise they would not have been able to tell of Sirius Black's escape, for example.

"Momma sendsss to Weassley twinsss and findsss themss at Hogwartss, and little Weassley ssayss to comesss getsss you. Comesss. Hurry."

Little Weasley? Oh, it must be Ron! He was alive! She knew it could not be Ginny, since Ginny was dead—killed at the same time as Harry, when she herself was taken captive, killed protecting her infant son, James Potter. This time the Dark Lord had known better than to attack the infant, so his reign of terror continued.

Everyone had been saddened by Harry's death, most of all his closest friends, Hermione and Ron, who had been with him that fateful day. Neither of them had been able to prevent it, and that pained them most of all. But they were not the only ones who grieved; the entire Wizarding world had halted in its tracks for an entire week to mourn the death of the Boy Who Lived, who lived no more. Some responded with shock and denial; surely the great Harry Potter, hero who had defeated Voldemort, could not be dead. But he was, and there was no bringing him back.

The Weasleys had mourned Harry and Ginny equally, for though Ginny was their sister, they had also adopted Harry into their family. They were hit the hardest by the chaos of the Dark Lord's reign. Their brother Percy had killed their parents mere months before that dreadful attack on the Potters. Their own family had betrayed them, and their sister and adopted brother had been murdered.

The dementor hissed impatiently, waking her from her ruminations. It was time to leave.

She followed Deme out of her cell—what else could she do? "The others. I can't leave without the others." The Stormwinds were her friends. They'd promised to help her escape if they could. She could do no less for them.

"No," Deme hissed. "You iss deadss. The othersss comesss, iss jailbreaksss. All getsss caughtss."

"But—," she protested.

"Comesss!" Deme hissed urgently. "They pretendsss ssickss. I tellsss them thisss. Then no ssusspiciouss."

She had to jog to keep up with Deme's long strides. "Why did you go to the Weasleys?" Talking helped her keep her mind off the unpleasant memories.

Deme hissed impatiently, "Momma sendsss."

_Momma? That _thing_ has a mother?_ She followed him in silence.

Finally they reached the edge of the island. "Getsss on shouldersss and turnsss into owl," the dementor commanded. She didn't even wonder at the fact that it knew her Animagus form; she was running on pure will power now, and didn't have enough energy to spare on idle speculation. He shouldn't have known her Animagus form; she wasn't on the records, since she was an illegal Animagus, one of the few illegal things she'd ever done.

She obeyed Deme, mostly because she didn't know what else to do. He shoulder felt gross and decayed, even through the cloak, but she told herself that she could endure anything if it gave her a chance to escape the hell-hole known as Azkaban prison. She realized why she had to be on his shoulders when she was unable to transform. He began to wade into the water, and she clung to his head—more like a skull—for dear life. They were quite a ways out before she was able to transform, and if she hadn't been on his shoulder her feathers would have been too wet for her to fly.

She flew the entire night, and arrived at Hogwarts in the morning. She barely had enough energy to change back, and she kept herself from collapsing by sheer force of will, but even her will power was waning. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor in a dead faint.

So, could you please review? Pretty please with blood and dead characters on top?


	3. Whispers

Disclaimer: I still own Darcy, I still own the plot, I still don't own the Harry Potter books.

Thanks to all my reviewers.

Mandy: As I said, the dementors have to be able to talk, otherwise how could they have told the Ministry about Sirius? Yes, welcome to Lightning's world, where everything makes sense—if you think about it.

Eclipse: I'm not quite sure I understand your question, but Donovan is Sirius's son, from an affair Sirius had before the Potters died. But please don't ask these sorts of questions, it makes me uncomfortable. As long as I don't have to think about it, I'm fine, I can just know it in the back of my head and ignore it, but... well, I'm young, so be easy on me. Please. I'm not even old enough to be part of the Adult Conspiracy (I've been reading Xanth).

ElfIcarii: Actually, Darcy is a he, not a she. And you're not supposed to know much about him. Yet. Nor are you supposed to know the main character's name, unless you somehow managed to guess it before this chapter, in which case I am very proud of you.

"Hermione." Dumbledore's voice was grave. "Come with me."

            Something was wrong, beyond the fact that the Dark Lord was in control, beyond the fact that most of the population willingly accepted his reign. The merry twinkle was gone from Dumbledore's eyes, and he looked sad, tired, old. Very old.

            She followed Dumbledore, unaware of where they were going until they reached the Hospital Wing. Of course. She needed rest, and as much chocolate as they could find.

            Then a frozen strand of flaming-red hair almost hidden beneath a blanket caught her eye. "Ron! Noooo!" She clung to his Petrified form and wept. After all she had gone through, all she had endured, with only the hope of seeing him once more, the thought that he at least might be safe keeping her sane, she had come so close to losing him. Oh, cruel fate, that would do this to her, almost causing his death when she thought she had finally gotten him back. Her only solace now was that he was not dead, only Petrified, but Petrified was enough to cause her to fear for him.

            It must have been the basilisk. It had somehow gotten into Hogwarts without being noticed, like—"The pipes. We must clog all the unused pipes. The basilisk uses them to move through Hogwarts unseen."

            Dumbledore nodded gravely. "It has already been done."

            "Luckily the Mandrakes are almost mature," Madam Pomfrey noted as she bustled about, caring for various maladies. That, at least, was good news, for it meant that her internal agony would soon end. Soon she would be able to talk with her beloved.

            "You're pale as a ghost!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed. "Where _have_ you been, Miss Granger?"

            "Azkaban," Hermione replied shakily. Of course no one had heard about her stay in Azkaban—no one knew who was in Azkaban these days, except the generally disliked inmates. That ensured that no one would mount a rescue mission. But somehow Ron had known to send Deme there—or had Deme known on its own? A dementor would certainly know who the inmates of the prison were.

            "Oh, dear!" Madam Pomfrey turned to Greg and Chris, the younger set of Weasley twins. "Go get some chocolate for Miss Granger, dears. She'll need quite a bit." The hurried to obey, and their mother, Katie, Beamed her approval. Their father, George, muttered something about how they had picked up such bad habits. Fred and Angelina's twins, Frank and Mat, had a proper sense of mischief; why couldn't his?

            Greg and Chris returned promptly with a great deal of chocolate. "For you, Miss Granger," they said, bowing to Hermione. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw faint smiles playing across their lips, just enough to suggest that they were teasing her.

            She ate the chocolate mechanically. It tasted like ashes, but it did warm her slightly. But every time she looked at Ron, she went cold again, negating the effect of the chocolate. She had been looking forward so much to seeing Ron, telling him she loved him, but now that was impossible.

            She had loved Viktor, as well—still did, in fact—but he was put in St. Mungo's after a Death Eater used the Cruciatus Curse to drive him insane. Ron had been there to give her support, a shoulder to cry on while she grieved.

            She didn't notice when she collapsed, not did she feel the arms that lifted her into an empty bed. She only felt the emptiness inside her, a void that had been her parents, Harry, Ginny, Viktor, and so many others. Even Draco Malfoy; he had attacked another Death Eater to save her, and now he, too, was in St. Mungo's.

            She drifted in and out of sleep, hearing snatches of whispered conversation.

            "We'll have to stay vigilant. She escaped from Azkaban. The Dark Lord will try to find a way...."

            "... dementor...."

            "... disappeared. Just vanished...."

            "... all four of them? Where...?"

            "... kept saying, 'Momma....' I swear that one girl had a pet dementor...."

            "Ah, yes." An angry voice, probably Dumbledore's. "She brought it into the castle once...."

            "... just a joke...."

            "... called it Deme...."

            "... weird sense of humor...."

            "Do you think it could be coincidence, Albus?"

            "Coincidence? No, I don't believe so, Minerva, but we can ask Miss Granger when she wakes." Hermione almost opened her eyes, but Madam Pomfrey saw her stirring and put a glass of some liquid to her lips. An instant later she had sunk back into unconsciousness.

            "... pet dementor...."

            "... gone for years before the dementor came...."

            "... probably went with the rest... she was captured, and saw... told it to help us...."

            "Why the Weasleys? Why not Dumbledore?"

            "... doesn't like dementors...."

            "... set up pranks together... was Deme, right enough...."

            She stirred again, and Madam Pomfrey appeared with a tray of chocolate and more of that vile concoction to make her sleep. "You need your rest, dear."

            "... another escape from Azkaban... Dark Lord has taken a personal interest... says she's to be captured but not harmed... no, Granger's been reported as dead... doesn't even mention that she was in Azkaban...."

            She lost all sense of time as she lay there, recovering her strength. Most of the time, she dozed, but sometimes she could sleep for entire days. Those were the good times. Others she woke screaming from nightmares about her stay in Azkaban.

            "... how she made it... no energy left in her... shouldn't even be alive...."

            "... notice that his prison is empty? Too many 'dying' at once...."

            "... failed Death Eaters...."

            "... Donovan Black...."

            "... nice kid... so much like Sirius...."

            "... never would have believed it of him...."

            "... heard he escaped...."

            "... rumors...."

            She opened her eyes and sat up. "Hermione!" Ron cried in relief. "I was beginning to get worried. Madam Pomfrey stopped giving you that potion a week ago. You've been dead to the world for an entire month."

Thanks again to all my reviewers. I really do enjoy getting reviews. Suggestions are welcome. I might fight against them for a bit, but only until I regain my common sense. I really do need suggestions for the improvement of this fic, since it is my first angst fic, and no matter how evil my mood is I still don't know how best to torture the readers. So my readers will have to tell me. Pretty please with a hissing vampire on top?


	4. Hogwarts under Siege

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it (unless you happen to be in the group harrypottershortstories, or you happen to have read one of my other fics).

Culurieneldoreth, thank you for your advice. It is very good advice, and I do believe I'll be able to incorporate that into the second chapter. Just don't let me forget.

F75, thank you for taking the time to review, although the review itself didn't tell me much. I will try to get around to explaining about the dementor—eventually.

Warning: This chapter contains mush.

Again, the title of this chapter doesn't quite seem to fit it, but I like poetic titles so I used it. If someone could suggest a poetic title that fits it better, that would be very nice.

"Donovan Black has escaped from Azkaban," Dumbledore informed her gravely. His eyes still seemed flat, dark, dead, for still they did not twinkle as they had before the Dark Lord had taken over. "On a happier note, so have the Stormwinds." For a brief moment, his eyes sparkled, but then they went back to how they'd been before.

            "More chocolate?" Katrina said hopefully.

            "No, dear," Madam Pomfrey said. "You've had quite enough already."

            "The Dark Lord's forces have laid siege to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said quietly. Dumbledore did not fear this Dark Lord any more than he had feared the last, but it was not wise even to think the name, lest one should say it. "Ron Weasley is in charge of our defenses."

            Ron managed a weak grin. "It seems that being good at chess is good for something other than getting to the Philosopher's Stone."

            "Please tell us how you escaped from Azkaban," Dumbledore requested.

            She quickly outlined the story. As soon as she had finished, she began to feel cold. _Green light, and screaming—_

            "Nissse boy," Deme's voice hissed. "Sssorry. Innosssent."

            A haggard-looking young man stumbled into the room, and the chill began to recede. The stranger looked absolutely terrified. Stranger? He looked familiar. "Can I at least take a bath before you kill me?" he asked plaintively.

            _Kill him? Didn't Deme just say that he was innocent?_

            "Go take a bath," Parvati ordered as if it were her own idea. "If you don't, the fumes are liable to kill _us_."

            The filthy stranger fled down the hall.

            "What are your defensive plans, Ron?" Hermione asked.

            "Well," he began, "At the moment Luna and Neville are trying to figure out some way to clear the Dark Lord's soldiers off the train tracks. We have about enough people in the school to guard the castle itself, but not to keep the Dark Lord's soldiers off the school grounds."

            The Stormwinds, who had recovered much faster than Hermione, were huddled together to discuss something. Only a few phrases escaped their tight group.

            "St. Mungo's...."

            "...not recovering...."

            St. Mungo's? Viktor and Malfoy were there, still showing no signs of recovery, unless something had changed since she was imprisoned.

            "So the children can run errands," Ron was saying, "and the rest of us guard specific parts of the castle. Fred, George, Peeves, and the Stormwinds are working on new defensive spells. They're laying some nasty traps in the five secret passageways from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade." He paused a moment. He looked like he was about to cry. A single glistening tear shone in his eye. He blinked, and it was gone. "I wish Harry and Ginny were still alive," he whispered.

            "Me too," Hermione said, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. "Me too."

            Ron nodded and took a deep breath. "They're also booby-trapping all the other tunnels leading out of the school, except the new one that Ernie and Susan Macmillan are working on." He looked so vulnerable. He was a young boy still in need of mothering, lost without a mother. Mrs. Weasley had died in the attack when Percy turned traitor. He had decided not to wait for power; he would seize it. He had tried to murder Fudge, but his parents tried to stop him, so he had killed them as well.

            "What about the towers?" Hermione mused. "The Dark Lord's followers could fly up to the towers to get into the school."

            "I already have that covered," Ron assured her. "I know how to play chess."

            The reference to chess reminded her of the time he'd played against McGonagall's Transfigured chess set during their first year at Hogwarts. "Just don't sacrifice yourself, Ron dear," she told him. "I couldn't bear to live without you. I love you, Ron."

            "Really? Do you mean it?" He looked like a child who had just been told that Christmas would come early that year.

            "Of course I mean it, you ninny!" She smiled to take the sting out of the insult.

            Suddenly he was kissing her, a deep, passionate kiss that left her gasping for air. She returned his embrace and kissed him back, opening her lips to let his tongue fill her mouth. _If only I had a wand,_ she thought, _I could produce the world's best Patronus._ Of course the Dark Lord had taken her wand away and snapped it in half when he put her in Azkaban. At least Ron had gotten away. Donovan Black had told Ron to come with him to get help—or so he said—because the Dark Lord was going to attack the Potters. As soon as the two disappeared, the door flew open, revealing the Dark Lord himself. Harry and Ginny were murdered, and Hermione was taken prisoner. While in prison, she had gotten her news from the prisoners brought in after her.

            The kiss ended, and they broke away. His hand found hers. side by side they sat, holding hands.

            The hauntingly familiar stranger appeared in the doorway, looking at everyone nervously. He looked halfway decent now that he'd scraped off that inch-thick coat of grime, and much more familiar. She could almost put her finger on where she'd seen him.

            _Dead silence, then a bang as the door was flung open. There he stood, looking terrified—_

            Then it his her: "Donovan Black."

Right, in case you don't know, I don't like romance too much, and I despise mush. My idea of a good romance is that the goy meets the girl, they fall in love, and they get married and have kids. But since this story is also an angst story (in contrast with my usual happy humor fics where the main characters can't die), I decided that I could try some mush and see how it turned out. It's already unlike my usual stories, so why not make it more unusual? Anyways, I discovered that if I take a deep breath and type really fast I could get through the mush part without giving in to the urge to scream.

Please review. I need some suggestions for romance. Who knows, I might even use your suggestions.


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